Quitting Your Job
It sure feels good to quit your job and just say what you take to be true. Not that my job was especially restrictive, but I had partners, so I was still mindful of the potential repercussions toward our company.
Yes, I can talk about all-cause excess mortality, almost certainly caused by the mRNA shots, the obvious fraud that was Jan 6, the grift and corruption in Ukraine that has us wading into WWIII under the absurd pretense our ruling class cares one bit about average Ukrainians. They killed a million Iraqis for no reason, faced no punishment and yet they stand with the people of Ukraine? How credulous can you possibly be?
I can say all of this, and it feels good. An unburdening of thoughts and observations that wasn’t allowed at the cocktail party or virtual water cooler.
. . .
I remember when we finally got group health insurance for our start-up in 2001. The insurance company sales rep showed up at our office, his name was Steve Faver, and he said, “Think of this as me doing you a favor.”
I asked what if we opted out, and he said, “Not spending that part of your paycheck on health insurance feels good at first, like when you pee in your bed. It’s warm and a relief, but then it gets cold and wet very quick!”
It was such a strange analogy — what 30-something adult wets his bed? — but maybe that’s why I still remember him more than 20 years later.
. . .
I’m not the only one telling the truth as I see it on social media or Substack. There are many more prominent voices than mine wading into these topics. I follow and read many of them. I appreciate their work.
Lately, though, after hearing a rant that’s more or less on point, I’ll see them ask for reader support via Patreon or to share and like their work. There’s nothing wrong with asking, and many quit their paying jobs to tell the truth as they see it — they have to make a living somehow. But “I’m your trusted truth-teller! Support me with money earned from your job where truth telling is discouraged” clangs like a false note.
Isn’t that the tradeoff you made? You quit your job (or said things for which you knew compliant management would fire you.) You made a choice to unburden your soul, and that choice had real consequences. To the extent it was a noble one, it was so only on account of those consequences. Without the consequences, everyone would have spoken up!
Of course, it felt good to be true to yourself at first. To come out and say what you were observing in the face of official lies. But Faver’s analogy comes to mind. Now that you’ve done it, and even if it’s largely had its desired effect — though the extent to which people who were scammed and even coopted to participate in the scam can wrap their minds around the revelations coming out is hard to gauge — you can’t go back to the warm comfort of your steady paycheck.
. . .
I enjoy what I’m doing. Sometimes it feels like I was born to do it. But there are so many people doing something similar.
Substack is a great resource. You can publish your thoughts to the world, get paid and don’t need anyone’s permission to do so. But when you are one of many thousands, it might as well be called “Haystack” and its individual contributors “needles.”
. . .
I went to see a Korean Buddhist monk when I was in college. He was the real deal, a holy person, an enlightened human being. It was obvious the moment we set foot on the grounds of his monastery. I’ve told the entire story at length in my podcast before, so I won’t repeat it here.
I remember telling him I wanted to be a writer, but I wasn’t sure whether I could make a living doing it. He laughed and in a heavy Korean accent said something to the effect of, “Business and law. You study business and law. If you try to be artist, you pumping gas! Hahahahaha!”
. . .
He was right. Most of the people who quit to speak out will learn the lesson. The choice to tell the truth instead of taking a job is the path of the artist. And many successful artists didn’t quit their day jobs, and some never had their art recognized until after they died. And I’m speaking only about the successful who themselves are but a small minority.
. . .
You don’t tell the truth as you see it to get paid. You do so because you have no other choice. That’s the only coherent framework. It’s not noble, it’s not a new “gig” for me. It’s not a business. I’m not providing goods and services demanded by the market. It’s just the truth as it appears to me, clamoring to get out.